Bastard Child
by Spasgo
Summary: The rain got heavier as he trembled, puttering against the ceiling, but of course—that's not what had the child out of bed. Of course not. Warnings- shota, incest, unspecified ages, human names used.


There was no point in lying under the sheets anymore. The air was thick with salty, spicy smelling air that clung to the brute man's skin like a starfish to a rock. Roma's legs were entwined with the sheets as he rolled back and forth to find comfort. Lodged between the wall and a pillow, he listened to the sounds of the quiet house, trying to gain enough solitude in it to fall asleep.

His muscles ached. He cursed his aging bones as he turned his form once more—now facing the wall, his broad back to the bedroom door.

He had thought he heard the tell-tale patter of little feet scampering about on the wood floors but passed it off as just his imagination. He had put his little grandson, Felipe, to bed hours ago and nothing in the world could wake that child up. Neither thunder, nor lightning could pull him from his legendary marathons of rest. Roma felt the corners of his lips tug upward at the thought of his precious child's sleeping face and when he closed his eyes once again, that was the image he was presented with.

His mind and eyelids got heavier as he lied on top of the rose colored sheets of his Queen sized bed. Sweat gathered in his hair line and under his nose as he sleepily breathed out. His entire body felt heavy with hot, summer silk.

In a more conscience state of being, Roma may have considered to crack open the window and let the sweet, rainy air in. Droplets of speckled rain glittered his window, attempting to taunt him in their cold, demeaning way. Failed attempts, as the large man let sleep engulf him as he dreamed of his sacred child.

The demon child, bastard child—the one not hiding behind his grandfather's eyes, trotted down the slim hallways of the old house with the grace of a hoard of elephants. His boney, bare toes creaked and cracked the ancient wood below them as he scampered. His frail, tired body clung to the walls before he finally reached his grandfather's room at the end of the hall. The rain got heavier as he trembled, puttering against the ceiling, but of course—that's not what had the child out of bed. Of course not.

He tugged on the old bronze doorknob, his small fingers wrapping around it like a treasure. His tiny, olive figure stood in the doorway, just watching the sleeping form just feet away from him, for moments before pushing himself forward.

"Nonno—"He whispered out in the dark, to that brute just out of his touch. His thin, over sized t-shirt felt more and more revealing as he inched closer to the bed, as it was the only thing the small boy was wearing.

He muttered his grandfather's endearing title once again but as soon as his knobby knees touched the oak frame of the bed he mumbled, "Roma" and touched that toned, sweat filmed skin with feathery fingers.

The old man rolled over and blinked his hazel eyes before having to rub the sleep out of them to focus. He swallowed a sour taste in his mouth and pushed himself up on his elbows to look at the dark tinted body before him. "Felipe-?" He coughed out before weight was added to the bed due to the child climbing in.

"Please, don't call me that." He stuttered. His quivering form moved into the man's lap with unexpected ease, his legs straddling either side of the large man. "You can pretend all you want, but please, don't call me that."

"Lovino—"He sighed, he had almost, but thankfully had not, forgotten the other child's name. The other child, the eldest grandson—the rude, bellowing, dimwitted, and bastard child who Roma had the displeasure of having under his roof. Not as cute as Felipe, not as pleasant to be around as Felipe, not as this, not as that, as Felipe.

Lovino's palms pressed against Roma's bare chest pushing the man off of his elbows and onto his back. The child's naked thighs squeezed around the man's midsection when he doubled over to place an open-mouthed kiss against his hot neck. In his drowsiness, Roma was slow to react. Lovino's warm breath and sliding tongue had made it to the sensitive lobe of his ear before he started pushing the revolting child off of him.

Still sitting spread-eagle in his lap, Roma stopped him and sat up, "Lovino, what are you doing?" He didn't trust his own voice to come out as a strong as he had wanted. His speech was refrained and quiet, the silence cut through them both.

The eyes of that boy could have knocked the wind out of the man's chest. He glared up at him through sleep-sweat drenched bangs, one obscure curl poking out from the rest. His copper eyes burned into him—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—while the curves of his lips and smile pressed on. When parted, they made a delicate popping sound and if the rain was any louder, Roma would have missed that alluring fragment.

Lovino's digits crept into Roma's hair, pushing it back against his skull in a most invigorating way. Roma's head followed his hair and his neck bent with it, all at show for little Lovino. Lovino, who's lips attacked it like an animal in heat the moment the scruffy skin was revealed to him. His innocent teeth grazed the man's Adam's apple before both his hands grasped his shoulders to hold himself in place.

He shifted his weight in Roma's lap, the movement making self-control less and less plausible for the old man. He had to stifle a moan, biting his lip, when the child's skinny form grinded against his growing problem. Lovino pulled back from the man's neck, his eyes of fire staring him down, and Roma realized, Lovino knew exactly what he was doing.

There was no point in hiding, the boy knew what he was looking for and how to find it.

Roma grasped the child's rib cage tightly and lifted him off his lap and to his knees, "Lovino, you obviously have a problem." Insult wavered in the child's eyes and Roma, for once, wanted to take back what he said. He went on, though, "You can talk to me about it, whatever it is. Just start talking and I'll listen."

Lovino shook his head and his thin bottom lip quivered side to side. "You will never understand." His eyes closed for a moment—allowing Roma a moment to catch his breath—before sighing and pushing the old man down again. "This is the only way you will ever understand."

With his thin, naked legs on either side of the man, Lovino tugged off his over sized t-shirt. He pulled on it from the back and over his head—like he had seen done by so many in movies before. That faux-sexy way, meant to be enticing, as it revealed inch by inch of Lovino's tanned olive skin. He sat on the man's chest, his bare flesh out to be judged.

Judged—touched, licked, nipped, pinched, bitten, bruised—Roma had to close his eyes.

He could not look at his child like this.

His strength failed him against the boy. The girth of rejection, neglect, and absolute unimaginable revolution was heavier than anything Roma had ever felt. It crushed him as it straddled his waist and pressed against his discomfort.

One more question—"Lovino, what is it you want from me?"

Lovino's palms, still pressed against the man's chest, shook before the child himself trembled just the same. He shivered as if somehow in the summer heat he was caught in a blizzard of a sort. He bit his lip and turned, rolled those burning eyes. "I know, you want me."

He emphasized this as he pressed his weight back down against the man's ever-growing problem.

"Just prove to me…" At first he whispered, but he straightened his back and looked down at his grandfather, "Just prove to me that I'm worth something to you, Nonno."

The boy didn't allow Roma to speak. He cut him off with hasty lips and a probing tongue. His fingers were in his hair, on his chest, nails scratching along tough skin, as he grinded down—only a thin layer of Roma's clothing separating them. Lovino seemed like he had more to say to the man, his mouth opened and closed every now and then against Roma's neck as if to spew a confession. Roma waited for such a speech but it didn't come.

Instead, the words the boy had just said to the man rang in his skull. Roma didn't know Lovino very well, but he knew that this was serious. If he didn't do what the child asked of him, he couldn't even get started on the number of things that would surely happen. Lovino being the bastard child he was would run away, leaving Roma and little, adorable Felipe all on their own. He'd join up with other ruffians, steal and sell himself. Swear on his life that sleeping in the gutter would be better than sleeping in that old, warm Italian home, again.

As was Lovino, dirty Lovino.

Hesitantly, he moved his hands to the boy's naked rib cage and held him still against him. "Lovino, this isn't right—"He strangled out as the boy fluidly moved in his lap. A moan escaped his lips when he talked, stopping him from finishing his thoughts and objections.

Lovino's little fingers trailed down the man's chest, pinching at sensitive skin in a seamless act of played out innocent curiosity. Those little touches and pinches set Roma into a fit of babbles when the child's hot mouth came against his toned chest—this time with remarkable experience and prowess.

_He had done this before_—the thought could not escape Roma's skull. He had done this before, he figured, which lead him to also conclude that falling for little, dirty Lovino's trap wouldn't be as dreadful as at first imagined. The flower had already been plucked, in lesser terms.

To think of who had plucked said flower sent a shiver down Roma's spine. The child had every chance in the world to go out and climb between the sheets of whatever man he so chose. That is, any man who was willing to give him the attention. As was exactly what Lovino was doing as his subtle skin glided against his grandfather's battle-worn flesh. And as, the old man's fingers itched to touch and push, Roma realized not even complying with the boy's wants would make Lovino his anymore.

There was nothing pure about the child withering in Roma's lap.

So the old man allowed himself, just once, to buck against that heat. An exasperated grunt escaped his lips while Lovino, himself, smiled down at the defeated man. Fingers toyed with the tips of hair again before the child pressed his narrow lips against his grandfather's again. Then his hands were on the move, frantically scampering down the old man's chest, shoulders, and towards his groin. The tiny fingers splayed out against the vast flatness of Roma's hip bones.

Those demon eyes of his and all their fire, shot up and questioned the identical copper eyes gazing down at him. God forbid, if this was his little Felipe snarling up at him from a vicious position above his groin, but if it was, hypothetically, Roma would be able to read his mind. He'd know where those little hands would go, while that little mouth would babble on and on in a grotesquely enticing way that was only—Felipe. His movements would be hesitate but short and frantic and he's use his mouth more than his hands, his hips more than his legs. He'd constantly be seeking approval from his dear Nonno—in this scenario, of course.

Roma couldn't predict Lovino—He didn't know him. Truth be told, not knowing the child between his legs, tongue trailing his narrow hipbones, made surrendering to him a lot easier. His large, callused fingers cautiously toyed with the boy's hair before his eyes slipped shut and let that stubborn child get what he wanted.

Out of the very few things Roma did know about his eldest grandchild was that the boy was very, very obstinate when it came to what he wanted. If the old man was honest with himself, he would admit that the child got that quality from himself. On numerous occasions, in the terms of romance, Roma had been guilty of pursuing the same woman for months just for one night of lustful bliss. To push the child off him and escort him back to his room, would only mean a replay the next night, and the night following that.

In the dark, summer heat, Lovino tugged the man's garments down his thighs and wrapped a tight hand around his arousal. All Roma could see in the dark was that shimmering russet hair—so much like his own—bobbing in his lap, and every now and then those eyes full of fire gawking up at him.

"_Just prove to me I'm worth something to you." _

That filthy, little mouth wrapped around the man's member in an equally muddled way. "Lovi—Lovino—"He stammered out while catching his breath, trying to start an objection—an apology—something. Just as before, he couldn't find his voice. Instead, his fingers knotted the sheets of his bed and he focused on anything but those copper eyes, obscene curl, and dirty, filthy mouth of that bastard child.

His tongue glided under the shaft which resulted in the man bucking and the child gagging around him. His throat tightened in a peculiar way—but oh-so delicious, as the man's fingers pulled on those sheets under his sweating back just like how he would have liked to have been pulling on Lovino's hair. But—he wouldn't dare touch him. Hallowed cheeks around him sent Roma into a fit of choked out moans and hesitant thoughts—why is he so good at this?—before his legs began to quiver underneath the child.

"Lovino—"He swallowed as heat started bellowing in his groin. Toes were clenching, a small pink tongue made swirls as tiny nails formed crescent moons against the man's bare-as-Adam thighs. Large, strong hands pushed against a small, freckled shoulder as a warning—get off of me, you dirty, filthy, awful child. Scarred knuckles brushed against baby soft, olive flesh as he tried to force him off before he completely defiled him.

If Lovino could be anymore tarnished than he already was.

Curse his old age, curse his old age for making him weak enough to fall to the hands and dreadfully talented mouth of an obscene child. He threw his head back against the pillow and let the summer heat over take him. As the warmth conquered his spine, his fingers curled in the sheets and the little boy's cheeks hallowed out and eyes of fire remained closed.

And Roma ruined the little boy between his legs as tremors of absolute, grimy bliss flourished through his body.

He lay back, engulfed in his bed by pillows and sheets, and let his mind catch up with him. Sweat made his russet curls stick to his forehead and as it moved down his face it stung his eyes. Guilt was already heavy in his gut, even before Lovino picked himself up off the mattress and headed towards the door—without even bothering to put his meaningless oversized t-shirt back on.

His little feet scampered against the wood floor of Roma's room while he made the voyage to the door. Tiny fingers were on the doorknob before Roma could even think to react. Without bothering with his own decency and modesty, he kicked his soiled boxers off of his legs and swiftly pulled the child back towards him.

Carrying him against his chest, as Madonna would child, Roma let that awful taste of shame and blame take over him. Lovino was abnormally silent as he was cradled back the bed. Against his grandfather's knowledge and privilege of ignorance, the child let a few quiet tears escape from his demon eyes. He let them travel down his face before smacking them down like flies.

"Lovino, we need to talk about this—"

"Did you pretend I was Felipe?" Lovino cut him off once the old man started talking. He was quick to move out of his grandfather's lap once they were seated on the bed against. He dangled his little legs over the side, the backs of his heels hit the oak frame creating a rash melody in the dark.

Roma was caught off guard by the revolting question, assuming he could only get off if he was thinking about his dear, little Felipe made his stomach churn and face quench. "No," He answered truthfully, even though he had thought about the little one during the course of, dare he say it, their intimacy, but those thoughts had no effect on him—not in the way Lovino was asking.

"Don't lie to me, old man." He crossed his arms over his bare chest hiding his vulnerability. "It's not a secret who you love more—if you love me at all, that is."

"Of course, I love you." Roma smiled, but as the corners of his lips turned upwards they felt more and more forced. He could feel the sludge of the lies slipping through his teeth. Those eyes of hell looked up at him with heart wrenching sadness, unrequited rejection—he could see right through the old man. "Lovino, you are my child. My love for you is unconditional." He modestly confessed but it did nothing for the woe on the boy's face.

Roma took his grandchild's little fingers between his own and looked at his sun-kissed, freckled face. "Let me help you." He whispered and Lovino winced, "Let me in so I can help you."

Lovino's neck twitched while he turned his head away from Roma. "What's the point?" He asked into his balled fist before those tiny digits enveloped his face, hiding it from his grandfather. Despite the sticky summer heat and the sweat filming their skin, Roma pulled his grandfather against him to hold him tight. His scruffy chin rested on the top of Lovino's head, his nose buried in musty, dark hair.

He sighed into his hair, "Oh, Lovi…" Of course, one could feel the child rolling his burning eyes at the affectionate nickname. "What do you want me to do?" His body was so exhausted and sore. He'd be quick to fall asleep if he didn't have the situation at hand to take care of.

"I already told you." Lovino crossed his skinny arms against his chest again. His bangs stuck against his delicate forehead with sweat and Roma could see dirt under his little nails. What Roma hoped was only sweat—but obviously wasn't—obscenely dribbled down the child's chin. Everything about the child in his lap was dirty. "I just want to be worth something to you."

Before, Lovino could finish his repeated sentence, Roma picked him up and cradled the child in his arms once more. The child kicked and fought in his arms. He resisted being carried out the door but as soon as the old man led him down the hall and to the large bathroom, his protests seized. He couldn't tell Lovino the truth, that he was hardly worth something to him. He had to love him—he hated the way that sounded, but it was true.

Loving a child like Lovino was just too much work for the old Italian man. He fought too much. He ate, cried, screamed, cursed, and bellowed like the disgraceful child he was. Despite all this, he had shared something with that disgusting child that could not be taken back. As he started the bath water and wrapped a soft towel around his waist, he wondered if he would even take it back.

That was the most time he had ever spent with his eldest grandchild. In its own revolting way, what had happened between them was special. He just hoped the little boy in his arms felt the same.

He placed the bastard child in the tub after filling it to the brim with warm, soapy water. Outside, the curtain had closed on the show of thunder and lightning. Rain still trickled against the windows, even while the hue changed as the sun rose.

Lovino was silent as his grandfather's scarred hands cupped water and gently soaked him. His eyes of fire slipped closed and his shoulders hunched foreword as he let himself go. Roma too kept quiet as he watched the boy relax in the tub.

He started out in a balled up position, his thighs upright against his chest but as Roma worked the suds against the grimy olive skin of the child, he changed. His thin claves over lapped the edge of the tub as his arms dangled off the sides. From the least modest of positions, Lovino gazed up at his grandfather with wide, doe eyes and a thin smile.

With his palms up, water creeping out of the cracks, Roma finally cleaned the tiny, dirty child.


End file.
